


Endings

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s02e19 Bad Moon Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-17
Updated: 2006-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14780852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The little things people keep from each other...





	1. Endings

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Endings

Tuesday...

CJ threw back her head and laughed for the first time in nearly a week. James was an entertaining date, with a ready stock of wickedly funny stories from his adventures in the diplomatic corps.

There was no possibility of this turning into a real relationship, and both of them knew it, but it was fun to go out on the town together.

"Care to come up for coffee?" she offered, as she unlocked her door. She knew full well that coffee wasn't exactly what she had in mind. James was handsome and it had been a long time since she had held a handsome man in her arms.

"I'd like that," James replied, following her in.

"I'll put on the coffee," CJ said, walking into the kitchen, noting that her answering machine was blinking. "Turn on the TV. I'd like to catch the last of the news."

"Sure," he replied agreeably. He, too, was a news junkie and he understood her need to know what was going to hit her in the morning.

CJ arrived with the coffee after the report on the collapse of the Mexican economy.

"...This just in." The anchor put one hand to her ear, with that look of Incredibly Important News coming in. "Washington Police just reported that a senior staff member of the White House was found shot to death near the Vietnam Memorial. We're going live to the scene..."

CJ's mouth dropped open. At the same time, her phone and her cell both went off. She ignored them, her eyes transfixed on the television screen.

"... A passerby noticed the body of a man lying near the Memorial and called police. The man had a single gunshot through the right temple. We have now confirmed his identity as Toby Ziegler, Communications Director for the White House. Police do not suspect foul play..."

CJ bolted to her feet and fled to the bathroom. She made it just in time, retching violently. James followed her and held back her hair as she threw up.

"It's okay, CJ," he murmured to her, holding her. "Shhh. It's okay."

"No, it's not," CJ replied, tears starting to fall. "It's not okay."

"... Christ, CJ, pick up." Leo's voice, on her answering machine, sounded through the apartment. "CJ, please. Pick up. Call me as soon as you get this message. It's important. Ah, Dammit!" The click was too loud.

CJ wiped her mouth and got shakily to her feet, leaning on James. She tottered to the phone and hit the speed dial.

"Leo?"

"CJ. Thank God."

"I heard, Leo. It's on the news."

"I know."

"What the hell? Leo, what happened?"

"I don't know. I got a call half an hour ago and I've been trying to beat the press in getting you guys."

"Does the President know?"

"Yeah."

"And Andrea?"

"I called her first thing."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Leo."

"CJ..."

"I need to know, Leo. I need to know more."

\-----------------------

"Josh? Can I get you anything?" Donna asked, almost timidly.

"Yeah. You can turn back the clock about an hour," Josh said bitterly. He was pacing restlessly, with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. "When are we going to get information from some one official?"

"They said they'd have a report soon," Donna said soothingly, her voice catching as she tried not to break down. "The television..."

"Shut the damn thing off," Josh ordered harshly. He could not hear the endless commentary about what they were now calling Toby's suicide.

Suicide. That made no sense to Josh. Toby was not suicidal, no fucking way. He was too strong for that. Sure, he had been preoccupied and grumpy the last week or two, but he went through bouts of that sometimes. Hell, they all did.

There wasn't anything happening that could have produced this. The guy had lived through a failed marriage and many failed campaigns; everything was going fine now.

Josh started to tremble. If someone as strong as Toby had taken his own life, then what did that mean for him? He had been tempted to take that way out a few times, since Rosslyn. If Toby couldn't resist the urge, would he...?

No, that was stupid. There had to be more to this. Much, much more. Somebody had tried to kill Charlie for dating a white girl. How much did those groups hate a policy making, powerful and influential Jew? Dear God, had Toby been murdered?

\----------------------------

"Jed, it isn't your fault," Abbey said sharply. The President of the United States was sitting with his head in his hands.

"You didn't see his face last Friday, Abbey," Bartlet said softly. "I did this. I destroyed him."

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Abbey said fiercely. "This is not your fault."

"Abbey, four days after that meeting, Toby was found dead near the Vietnam Memorial with a gunshot through his head," Jed exploded, gesturing with his hand. "Single shot, right through the temple. The gun was found next to him, with his fingerprints on it. What I told him hurt him, Abbey. I let him down."

"You didn't put the gun in his hand, Jed," Abbey shouted back, shaking. "You didn't pull the trigger. He did. If anyone is to blame, he is."

Abbey bit her lip before she could say anything else, before she said what could never be taken back. She was angry, so insanely angry, that she forgot to be afraid. How could he? How could Toby Ziegler, of all people, be so goddam vulnerable to do this? How could he hurt so many people? How could her friend, the man she could count on to be practical and sensible, possibly do this to them?

Jed Bartlet looked at his wife and gave a deep sigh. She was furious; he knew her well enough to know what fury looked like.

He was too guilt laden to feel anger. That would come later, in spurts, as would the grief. Toby was a difficult man to know, hard to get close to, but his friendship and support meant a great deal to him. He closed his eyes, shutting out what the loss of someone as brilliant as Toby to his team would mean.

He began to murmur, over and over again, the Ave Maria. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to recite Catholic prayers for the soul of an observant Jew, but he did anyway. Toby may not need his prayers. He did.

\------------------------

Leo took his feelings and shut them up in that place where he put away all his pain. It wasn't easy this time, but he managed. He had work to do. He had to find out all the details, contact Andrea and Toby's family, find the staff and bring them under his wing, find a way to respond to this to the rabid press corp. He knew that most of middle America would feel that it was a real shame and be curious about the man's death, but it mattered little to them. It mattered a whole lot to Leo.

He couldn't decide which was worse, calling Toby's ex-wife or calling his mother. His mother went into hysterics, screaming in several languages, none of which he understood. His ex-wife took the news very quietly, thanked him and said she would be there to help with the arrangements.

Toby dead. He couldn't wrap his mind around that one. Toby was the first of Jed Bartlet's footsoldiers, the one who brought CJ in, the one who had crafted and directed their message from the very beginning, back in New Hampshire.

That Toby had taken his own life was completely incomprehensible, so he refused to even try to comprehend it.

"Leo." Margaret, quiet and subdued, came in. "Everyone's here. The police have just arrived with a report."

\-----------------------

Leo almost smiled as the two police officers arrived. They had needed a police escort to get through the crowds of reporters crowding around the gates.

The vague impulse to smile vanished as he watched the faces of the staff filing in. Sam, pale and silent, with red rimmed eyes. Josh, holding himself in with visible effort. CJ, sick and bewildered. The President, aged a dozen years. Andrea Wyatt... He couldn't look at her.

The police officers didn't look a whole lot better. One of them, a young man of maybe twenty five, was obviously terrified at the identity of the faces in the room. The other, an older woman, looked grim and her eyes were haunted.

"Don't I know you?" Josh asked her suddenly, coming out of the manic haze he had been in.

"Yeah."

"You were the one at the protest."

"Yeah. I got the call." Officer Rhonda Sachs nodded sadly. "Small world, ain't it?"

To be continued in part 2

  


	2. Endings 2

"Officers, if you could give us the facts?" Leo said, not quite sure how to get the ball rolling. Sachs drew herself up and went into professional mode, consulting a small notebook.

"We got a 911 call at twenty three twenty seven, reporting a dead body at the Vietnam Memorial. Officer Hotchkins and I went to the scene and found a white male, mid forties, with a single gunshot wound to the right temple. The weapon, a fully loaded 9mm automatic, was on the ground nearby with one round fired. There were no signs of a struggle." Here, her steady voice started to falter. "I recognised him, despite the wound, but I checked his identification just to be sure. His driver's license and his credit cards confirmed that it was Toby Ziegler."

"Could he have been mugged and something went wrong?" Josh asked.

"If he was, the thief left nearly two hundred dollars, three Platinum credit cards and his car and house keys behind," Sachs said, with painful flippancy. "I'm sorry, but all indications point to suicide. Including this."

She pulled out two envelopes from a bag.

"Mr Ziegler's car was parked nearby. It was untouched," Sachs continued. "We also went to his residence to see if there was any evidence of a crime. We found two notes, one addressed to Andrea Wyatt and one to CJ Cregg."

Andrea cried out softly as Sachs passed her a thick envelope. CJ's was thinner and she took it with stoic silence.

"I'm sorry," Sachs said softly. "There isn't anything more we can do."

"Officer, may I ask a question?" Andrea said, her voice steadier than any of them thought possible.

"Yes?"

"Was he tested for drugs in his system?"

The room went silent. What was Andrea suggesting? Sachs checked her notes for a long moment.

"Yes. That's standard procedure," she said finally. "There was a small amount of alcohol in his system, not enough to suggest impairment. There was a larger amount of diazepam."

"Oh, Christ," Leo muttered. Valium. Booze and Valium, his own darkest nightmare. How in hell had he not seen that? He had successfully hidden his own addiction to the pills, but he should have known. He should have seen.

"Anything else?" Andrea asked, leaning forward.

"No." Sachs shook her head, rereading the report.

"Oh, God." Andrea put her head in her hands and started to cry. It was painful to witness.

\-------------------

Sam stood in Toby's office, with a vague notion of cleaning out Toby's personal effects, since he needed to do something. Ginger went with him, to keep her eye on him. She knew Sam was devastated. Her own tears and grief could wait.

"What the hell was Andrea implying, anyway?" Sam asked her as he shuffled papers from one side of the desk to the other. "That Toby was on drugs or something?"

"Maybe she was looking for a reason why this happened," Ginger said softly.

"Toby was not some pill popper." Sam slammed his hand down on the desk.

"No, he wasn't," Ginger replied firmly. "He had a prescription for it, though."

"He did?"

"Yeah." Ginger nodded. "He got it refilled a couple of days ago. I picked it up for him at the pharmacy."

"You knew he was taking something?"

"Sam, if anybody around here needed to take a Valium, he did," Ginger pointed out. "He had a prescription for them, Sam, and he had a full bottle a few days ago. If he was some kind of addict, he would have had a lot more than that in his system."

"I guess." Sam opened a drawer at random. Inside was one of Toby's rubber balls. He bit his lip. How often had he been annoyed by the bouncing of that ball against the walls of the office? Under the ball was a small pill case. Sam glanced at Ginger and, since she wasn't looking, slipped the case into his pocket.

\-------------------

Josh sat in his office, thinking. The Valium was a blind. Hell, he had a prescription for the stuff himself. Stanley had given him some to help calm him down, although he rarely used it. If there was ever a time when he should take it, it was now. But he needed to think.

Everybody seemed to accept the police report. Suicide. The notes were the clincher; Toby had written notes to the two women he cared about and that was that.

Josh didn't believe it for a minute. He wished he could read the notes, to find out what Toby had written. CJ and Andrea both knew Toby's handwriting; they could not have been faked. Forging a signature was one thing, faking a letter in someone else's writing was quite another. It was possible that someone could forge his indifferent scrawl, but not Toby's almost Spenserian script. God, he had beautiful handwriting, difficult in this age of computers to find. Not very likely to be forged.

So Toby had written the notes. Had he been coerced? That was more likely. Okay, so Toby wasn't the most weak willed man on the planet, but a gun to the head is pretty good incentive. And Toby wasn't stupid; he would have gone along with it, looking for a better opportunity to resolve the problem.

Somebody wants Toby dead. They want to make it look like suicide. Josh spun that scenario. Okay, we have a break in or a meeting at home with someone he knew. The guys force him to write the notes, drive him to the Memorial in his own car, shoot him and leave, maybe calling the cops themselves.

There were a few holes in the story, Josh admitted. Toby would not have gone with them willingly and the report said that his house showed no signs of a struggle.

Maybe that was where the drugs came in. He had been drugged into going.

No, there wasn't enough of the tranquilizer in his system to knock him out. The report was clear on that. The amounts of alcohol and tranquilizers in Toby's bloodstream was so small as to make no appreciable difference in his ability to function coherently. Josh had to accept that. Toby had an amazing tolerance for alcohol. He could drink everyone under the table without seeming to get drunk himself. He would get depressed, sure, but not out of control.

Okay, that theory wasn't plausible. Josh threw away the notes he had doodled on a piece of paper and pulled a fresh sheet in front of him.

\-------------------

Sam looked at the pills in his hand. White and yellow capsules, with "N 50" written on them. That meant nothing to him. He tipped the rest of the contents of the container in his hand. Eighteen of the yellow and white capsules, five Aspirin sized white ones, many of them cut in half, and a half dozen tiny pink ones. He couldn't even hazard a guess as to what they were. For all he knew, they were for hypertension or something. Toby was high risk for heart trouble, what with his appalling diet, the stress of his job and his age.

He put the pills back into the container and put the container back in his pocket. He wasn't sure what to do with them.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were. He didn't want to know that Toby had a drug problem.

Toby had some kind of problem, though. He had killed himself. He had taken a gun and shot himself in the head.

\-------------------

A gun. Josh frowned, doodling on the paper. Where the hell had Toby gotten a 9mm automatic weapon? Toby didn't own a gun. Toby didn't like guns, didn't approve of guns and tried to ban guns. Yet he - or someone - had put the gun into his right hand, lifted it to his right temple and pulled the trigger.

It wasn't hard to buy a gun, Josh allowed. It was actually pretty damned easy. Toby had the money and would have passed a background check with flying colours. Maybe someone would have records of the purchase?

Blackmail. Was Toby being blackmailed? Toby had a surprising number of friends, considering his rather prickly personality, and many enemies. He knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew him. Did Toby know something that somebody didn't want anyone else to know?

Toby had been preoccupied for most of the last two weeks, working on something he hadn't wanted to share with anyone. Friday night... The meeting with the President. Toby had come out of the meeting looking like hell. And he had been in a very bad mood since.

Josh shot to his feet. He had to talk to Leo. If it was serious enough to lead to this... No. If it was that serious, Leo would stonewall. Maybe if he got his hands on Toby's notes.

\-------------------

Was Toby ill? Sam recalled seeing a copy of the Merck Manual for clinical diagnosis on the bookshelf. Had Toby always had that or was it a new addition to the eclectic selection of reference books on the shelf?

Cancer was the most obvious choice, that or heart disease. Toby smoked, drank, ate poorly and was slightly overweight. He had been in his mid-forties, a prime age for trouble of that kind.

Most diseases are treatable, Sam thought. Surely Toby would have gone for treatment, rather than... Come to think of it, Toby had been distracted for the last couple of weeks. Had he been in pain? Had the pain become too much to bear? Maybe the pills were painkillers and they weren't working anymore.

\-------------------

CJ curled up on her bed and wiped her eyes for the hundredth time, throwing the tissue on a growing pile. Toby was dead. It was just too painful to think about. She rolled over, took a sip of the water on the nightstand and picked up the letter for the hundredth time.

"Dear CJ - " he had written. "It breaks my heart to imagine you reading this. Despite the number of times I've yelled at you, teased you and fought with you, I do love you. I hope you know that. You've been my friend for a long time, through good times and bad. Sometimes I wonder why you've stayed my friend, but most of the time I've simply been grateful that you are there. I know I've hurt you and I know I've disappointed you.

"Well, I am going to disappoint you one last time. I know you will have questions, but I cannot answer them satisfactorily. I don't have the answers for myself. I'm so tired of it all, CJ. I don't think you can even comprehend just how tired I am. I don't know how to deal with this anymore. I just want it to end.

"I love you, old friend - Toby."


	3. Endings 3

Wednesday...

"Did he know?" John Hoynes asked bluntly. Leo slowly nodded.

"Last Friday," Leo confirmed. "We had to tell him. He figured out what you were doing."

"I know. I intended him to," Hoynes replied. "How's the President taking it?"

"He's blaming himself." Leo sighed. "You might get your wish, John."

"Not like this, Leo. Not like this." Hoynes shook his head. "Do me a favour."

"What?"

"Tell Jed Bartlet to get his head out of his ass," Hoynes said sharply. "Toby Ziegler didn't do this because of what he was told on Friday night. I didn't know him all that well, but I know that. You should, too."

"Yeah." Leo was unconvinced.

"Look at what you do know about Ziegler. The answer's there if you look hard enough."

"What are you getting at, John?" Leo nailed him with a glare.

"Toby Ziegler figured out your secrets in six days. How long will it take you to figure out his?"

\-------------------

The press briefing was hell. CJ tried to keep her voice steady as she confirmed Toby's death last night. She succeeded until Katie tried to ask a question.

"CJ? Could you clarify...?" That was as far as Katie got before CJ snapped.

"He's dead. What more clarification do you need?" She shouted. "He's dead with a bullet hole through his head." Her voice broke at the last few words and she looked down, trying to hide the tears.

The press room was eerily and uncharacteristically silent. When CJ steeled herself to look up, she saw that everyone was looking at her with sympathy, respectful of her grief.

"CJ, when is the funeral?" Danny asked quietly.

"On Thursday afternoon. The President will attend, as will the First Lady. It will be a private ceremony, so I can't give any details as to where it will be held." CJ had some of her composure back. "That's all. The Washington Police will issue a report to you by ten this morning."

\-------------------

The west wing was as quiet as a tomb. The usual frantic pace was slowed, although everyone was working hard. The business of government could not stop for the death of one man. Sam tried to concentrate on the report on his desk, but it wasn't easy. Toby had been working on it yesterday, and his neat annotations were a constant reminder of the fact that he wasn't around anymore.

Sam was not ashamed to admit he had cried most of the night. When he first met Toby, he had been bewildered. He wasn't sure what to make of him. Hard drinking, cynical and abrupt, Toby had not impressed him much, not until the evening they worked on an important speech. Toby seemed to know every fact off the top of his head, referring to his notes only to make a quote.

And the speech itself was pure genius. Sam had to fix it; it was not phrased the way Bartlet would speak, but it was brilliant. That speech set the tone for the rest of their working relationship. Toby would write the first draft, Sam would rework it for Bartlet, then Toby and Sam would go over the final draft together. Sam often wondered when Toby would write the definitive work on American politics. Well, he wasn't going to write it now and the world was poorer for it.

He got up and looked out his office door for a moment. The bullpen was quiet and he noticed that everyone avoided the office next to his. Toby's office door was open, but empty, untouched.

Ginger's desk was empty, too. She had taken the day off. Sam wished he could have taken the day off, too, but he had work to do. He went back to his desk, but didn't go back to the report. Instead, he wrote what he was aching to write - what he needed to write. He would write Toby's obituary, utilizing every bit of skill that Toby had tried to teach him in the last three years.

\------------------

Ginger put the phone down and sighed, crossing the item off her long list.

"That's the papers cancelled," she said to Andrea, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee.

"Ugh," Andrea said, dumping the coffee out in the sink. "That has to be the worst coffee I've had in a while."

"Toby hated coffee," Ginger said wryly. "I think that coffee is about a year old."

"He used to keep some fresh coffee on hand for guests." Andrea shook her head. "I guess he hasn't had time for guests since getting to the White House. What's next?"

"His will." Ginger looked at her list. "And if there are any insurance policies and the like around, we need to find them."

"That would be in the safety deposit box," Andrea replied. "You got his keys there?"

"Yeah." Ginger picked them up. "There isn't a safety deposit box key here."

"Oh, great." Andrea rolled her eyes. "Okay, Ziegler, where did you put the key?"

"I'll take the dining room if you take the living room," Ginger offered.

The two women looked, to no avail. Ginger had offered to help Andrea with closing up Toby's house and finding all the papers. Toby's sisters had offered to come up, but Andrea refused. The funeral was going to be held in Brooklyn tomorrow and they had enough to do in making those arrangements.

Andrea looked at all the logical places where Toby might have kept the key. She paused at the fireplace, remembering the times they would sit together in front of the fire and talk. Her eyes drifted to the mantlepiece and she took down the only photograph on it.

It was their wedding day photo. They both looked so happy, so young. Toby was slimmer then, but other than that, he hadn't changed that much from their wedding day.

"Andrea?" Ginger said softly, coming up behind her.

"We were so happy then," Andrea said softly. "Of course, ten minutes after the picture was taken, we were arguing about something. His sisters were mortified, but I didn't mind. I loved arguing with him."

Ginger said nothing, just put her arm around the older woman.

"Thanks for helping me with this, Ginger," Andrea said, carefully putting photograph back, her fingers lingering on the image of the happy couple.

"No problem. I wanted to help," Ginger said softly. "I used to come here and get clothes and stuff for formal events, so I know pretty much where everything is. It always used to surprise me at how neat it is."

"Toby was pretty good about housework. Which is a good thing, since I always hated it. It helped him to do the cleaning."

"Yeah. His office is like that, too," Ginger said, with a slight smile. "Everybody thinks I was the one who kept it so clean, but he didn't like me touching his stuff."

"Ginger, you knew, didn't you?" Andrea asked suddenly. "He told you?"

"Not in so many words, no. But I knew," Ginger replied softly. "I helped him as much as I could. I wish I could have done more..."

"You and me both." Andrea sighed. "I did love him, you know."

"I know. I did, too."

\----------------------

"Mr. President? Sir?" Charlie tried to get Bartlet's attention. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Charlie..." Bartlet pulled himself out of his abstraction and tried to smile. "No, Charlie, I'm not."

"Is there anything I can do?" Charlie was sympathetic.

"No." Bartlet sighed heavily. "I need to find a new Communications Director and all I want is to have the old one back. It's funny, Charlie. I didn't want Toby in the first place, but now that he's gone, I can't imagine anyone else in the post."

"But I thought that Sam...?" Charlie frowned in confusion.

"Sam turned it down," Bartlet said tiredly. "I don't know. Maybe I asked too soon. I need somebody now. Especially now. Toby's death... We have to handle it better."

"Yes, sir," Charlie agreed.

"The timing's bad, Charlie. Real bad," Bartlet continued. "If he reacted like this..."

"Sir, if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, I think you're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes, sir. It wasn't your fault. Whatever was going on in Toby's head, it wasn't that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He waited four days. Now, I read up on suicide and it usually doesn't take that long for a person to react to something," Charlie said earnestly. "Yeah, suicides plan how they're going to do it. But Toby was a real smart man. His plan would not have taken four days to work out. No, sir. It was something else that caused this."

"I'd like to think that, Charlie."

"I don't know why he did this, sir, but he would not have come into work yesterday if he had been that upset about what you told him."

\-----------------------

"I found it," Ginger said, holding up the key. They were in Toby's bedroom, with Andrea looking through the closet while Ginger looked through the drawers.

"Good. Let's hope the bank will let me access it." Andrea blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"They will. I talked to the manager this morning," Ginger told her. "He has to be there when you open it, but he said it was okay for you to take the papers as long as you sign for them."

"Thank you," Andrea said gratefully, sitting down on the edge of the immaculately made bed. She absently smoothed her hand across the dark blue comforter. Ginger tucked the key into her pocket and sat down next to her.

"This must be so hard for you," Ginger said slowly. "I mean, you're divorced. You shouldn't have to do this."

"I miss Toby," Andrea said slowly. "I really do. I let him down in a lot of ways. This is the least I can do for him. Besides, the house is mine anyway."

"It is?"

"Un-hunh. Toby and I bought it when we moved to Washington. When I left, he took over the mortgage payment, but the house is in my name." Andrea made idle circles with her forefinger on the bed. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You didn't have to come help me with this. Why did you?" Andrea asked slowly. "Did Toby ever get, well, personal with you?"

"Me? No." Ginger gave a little laugh. "Although there was one time...."

"Yes?"

"We had a tight deadline and Toby suggested that we work here instead of at the office. I wasn't really sure about it, but I agreed," Ginger said slowly. "We worked on the report and finished it, then ordered in some food. I was starving and so was he. We decided to watch a movie while we ate and ended up cuddling on the couch."

"Toby's nice to cuddle with," Andrea observed, with a smile. "What happened?"

"He kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him, I don't remember. We looked at each other for a minute, wondering if we really wanted to do this."

"And?"

"And we both shook our heads at the same time," Ginger finished. "We watched the rest of the movie, cleaned up the kitchen and I went home. And that was the only time we ever considered being anything more than friends."


	4. Endings 4

CJ threw herself into her work for the rest of the day. Toby's funeral was tomorrow and there was no way in hell she was going to miss that. In fact, so many people wanted to go that Leo had arranged for a flight for everybody who wanted to go. The White House would be closed at eleven, unless something pressing came up.

Simon took over the afternoon briefing, since she wasn't sure she could set foot into the press room after this morning. The press corp were being quiet and well behaved. CJ wanted to think that they were being respectful of Toby's memory, but she knew better.

They were as confused by this as she was. Why had Toby done this? That was the story they were after and they didn't need to badger her to get it. They needed to investigate. Even now, less than twenty four hours later, all sorts of bizarre conspiracy theories were being circulated. CJ wanted to respond to them, but Leo said no.

Leo was right; let them speculate. Toby's friendship with an Indonesian dissident was hauled out and examined. The man was in prison and hadn't seen Toby in nearly two years, but that didn't stop the speculation that he had been involved in some kind of international left wing protest conspiracy. The CIA was implicated, but their spokesperson just shrugged it off. CJ knew him; he said that speculation would have been laughable if it wasn't so sad.

Then there was the wild rumours involving Ann Stark and some kind of star crossed lovers scenario. That one did make CJ laugh briefly. Ann, for all her meanness, was genuinely sorry to hear of Toby's death and called CJ to tell her that. CJ could almost like Ann for the way she had expressed her sympathy. Almost.

The drug scenario was more worrisome. CJ didn't believe that Toby had a problem of that kind, but the mere hint haunted Leo's eyes. The Surgeon General had pooh-poohed the idea of addiction; there simply wasn't any evidence of heavy drug use, based on the autopsy report.

CJ didn't know what to believe. She knew there had been something he was worried about. Big potatoes, he had said. She put a hand to her mouth. He had said that on Monday. And on Tuesday night, he had killed himself. Was that what he was referring to? Dear God, had he been planning this since Monday? Or before?

\---------------------

The President shook hands with his Secretary of State and watched him leave. The Mexican economic collapse was not a good sign for the US economy. And Canada's economic slowdown was not a good sign, either. The market adjustment for overvalued internet companies was causing a downturn in consumer confidence. He jotted down a few ideas to raise confidence in the economy. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with the economy, just people scared that the internet boom was over. A lot of people made a lot of money on it and now that people were losing money, the markets were a little nervous. The internet stocks were grossly overvalued anyway; an adjustment was inevitable.

Some people had made money on it, though. Toby had made over a hundred grand on the wave of... Bartlet sighed, throwing down the pen. He had almost forgotten, in the busyness of the day. Toby's windfall was not that much of a windfall after all. To allay the fears of impropriety, he had worked for a year without salary, using his small investment to live on. He hadn't been happy about it, but he had. And it had made no difference whatsoever in how hard he worked.

The funeral was tomorrow. He had to be there. It was a logistical nightmare, but he had to. He had to get some kind of closure.

Closure was going to be difficult, for all of them. Not knowing why he did this left them all open to their own fears. Leo was so afraid that he had missed the signs of addiction. John Hoynes was being a smug little prig, hinting at some kind of inside information that would make this all make sense.

Damn John anyway, for his little 'you may be a Nobel laureate, but I'm smarter than you where it counts' games. He played that with Toby, daring him to figure it out. Toby had risen to the challenge and look what happened.

Bartlet felt a rising rage at his Vice President. John had a hand in this. If he hadn't dared Toby to figure it out. If he hadn't played his little game. If only he hadn't told John in the first place. If only he had told his staff. If only.

\-----------------

Josh waited until the coast was clear. He worked insane hours all the time, so nobody would think it weird that he stayed late. After all, it was a short day tomorrow, what with the funeral.

He sent Donna home early. She had been useless most of the day anyway, wandering forlornly around, looking for someone to talk to. That was how she dealt with things; she talked. And no one wanted to listen to her talk about Toby except Margaret.

She and Margaret left together, weeping and talking it all out. It was good for them, he supposed, but it hurt like hell to hear them.

He looked around, then darted down the hall to Toby's office. As far as he knew, everything was still there, even his laptop. Ginger had brought it in that morning when she opened the office, since Sam needed some of the notes on it.

The door was locked, as it usually was at night, but Josh had the key. Ages ago, Donna had made copies of all the keys and put them away in the safe. Josh was forever leaving his keys on his desk.

He unlocked the door and slipped in, turning on the desk light. Toby had the second best office in the west wing, with only Leo having a better one. It was not all that big, but it felt spacious. Maybe that was because it was almost always immaculate, without papers overflowing every surface.

How in hell did Toby keep the paper explosion to a minimum?

'Because I put things away when I'm done.' Josh could hear Toby's voice in his head as clearly as if he was standing in the room. Josh shivered, feeling Toby's presence haunting him.

Okay, enough with the imagination, Josh scolded himself, sitting down behind the desk.

He started with the drawers. Spare keys, office supplies, a stack of notebooks, pens, pencils, change and the like took up most of the drawers. He flipped through the notebooks. They were all empty.

One of the drawers held some interesting things. A rubber ball. A lighter. Three cigars. A New York subway map. A novel, with a bookmark at the two thirds mark. A substantial stash of Belgian chocolates, with one box partly eaten. Josh grinned to himself. Toby was a secret chocoholic. Nobody had that much chocolate in his desk if he wasn't. Taking one of the chocolates, he popped it in his mouth and ate it while continuing looking.

"What are you doing?"

Josh looked up, guilt and chocolate all over his face. Donna and Margaret were there, looking at him.

"I... Um..." Josh stuttered for a moment, then got up and went past them to close the door. "I'm looking for something."

"In Toby's office?" Donna inquired, raising a brow.

"Yeah." Josh swallowed the last of the chocolate and faced her. "I want to know why. None of this makes any sense to me. I want to see Toby's notes. Maybe they'll shed some light on this."

"You think there was some kind of conspiracy?" Margaret asked in a hushed tone. Josh felt a tingle of apprehension down his spine, but ignored it.

"Yes," he said simply. Donna looked at Margaret, then both of them nodded.

"I'll help," Donna said briskly, going to the bookshelf by the door.

"So will I." Margaret nodded. "Leo's tearing himself up inside about the pills. I sure wish we could find something to reassure him on that point."

\--------------------

Andrea sat in her darkened living room, with the papers on her lap. She had not been surprised at what she found in the safety deposit box. Toby's will, made over a year and a half ago, was there, as she expected, and his insurance policies.

There were four different insurance policies in there, all paid up and all well past the suicide clause. His mother was the beneficiary on one of them, his sisters on another. She was named on a third one and Ginger and Bonnie on the last, most recent one.

Ginger had cried out in shock on that, while the bank manager looked on in mild curiosity. Andrea knew what Toby had done; he had taken care of all the women in his life. Ginger and Bonnie had been good to him and they needed the money more than any of his family did. This was his way of thanking them. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was enough to help them along.

It was very like Toby, to do a kindness for someone in such a way that he'd not have to acknowledge that he had done it.

Their marriage certificate was there, too, along with the divorce decree. All the papers were the legal aspects of his life; there was nothing personal or sentimental in them.

She smoothed the letter he had written her and placed it on top of the papers. It was as personal as Toby could possibly get.

The letter was beautifully written and heartfelt. If she ever doubted his love for her, the letter would have proved her wrong. He wrote about his fears, his love for her, his growing feelings for CJ, his confusion and his pain. He wrote about his friends and his regret that it had come to this.

"Why didn't you show me this before you picked up the gun, Toby?" she whispered, tears falling. "I would have been there for you. We all would."

She wiped away the tears and folded the letter up, putting it away. No one else could ever see the letter. CJ didn't need to know about his feelings for her. And no one needed to know how he had suffered. He was at peace now.

\---------------------

Sam read over the obituary. It had taken all day to write it. It was, he knew, the best writing he had ever done.

He could not write very much about Toby's personal life. He didn't know much about that. He did know a great deal about the effect he had on the people around him, and about the passion and intelligence he brought to his work.

Sam wondered how anyone so cantankerous could possibly have touched so many people, himself included. He recalled the number of times he wanted to strangle Toby. The rubber balls. The bell. The snide comments about punctuation. The teasing about Laurie. The curt dismissal of his conversation.

Yet, there was something about Toby that forced him to do his best, that made him want to excel.

"Good work," Toby had said to him once, tossing one of those damned balls. Sam had caught it, surprised at the compliment. He had been astonished, but he had caught the ball.

The metaphor weaved its way around his mind. Toby had expected him not to drop the ball. And he would expect it now. Now, when the White House needed someone to craft the administration's message. Now, when they had to find a way to deal with this.

Toby trusted him not to drop the ball. Sam paused, then picked up the phone. He would tell Leo that he would try to fill Toby's place, at least until they could find someone more suited to it. Toby had taught him how to do it. Toby knew he would not drop the ball.

Sam put the phone down again. Had Toby planned this that far back? How like Toby to quietly put everything in place for when it was needed. Toby was a master at planning, staying ten steps ahead of the game. That was why he could always beat the President at chess.

How long had he planned this? How long had he been in such pain that he felt that suicide was the only way out? And why hadn't he told anyone? Surely he would have said something?

No. No, he wouldn't. Toby kept his innermost self tightly buttoned up inside and no one was allowed in that far. Not even CJ, who was one of his dearest friends.

"Why didn't you say something, Toby? Did you think we'd think less of you for it?" he whispered. "I would have been there for you. We all would."   



	5. Endings 5

"I found something," Margaret said suddenly. She had been going through the files on the laptop. Josh was dubious about letting her touch the computer, but Margaret insisted and Donna backed her up.

"What?" Both Josh and Donna crowded around.

"See this?" Margaret pointed to something on the screen. "That's a hidden directory. Now, we go here and it shows the files."

"Toby's personal notes." Josh looked at the display. "Can you open them?"

"Give me a few minutes to break through the encryption," Margaret said confidently. "Toby's got a really good encryption program on this."

"You're hacking into his computer files?" Josh asked, raising his brows.

"Well, unless you have his passwords, there's no other way to get into the files," Margaret replied, typing fast. "It isn't like he can yell at me for it."

Margaret stopped, appalled at what she said.

"Go ahead, Margaret," Donna said softly, putting her hand on the woman's shoulder. "We need to know."

"I don't know... Toby's privacy..." Margaret faltered.

"We can keep secrets, Margaret," Josh said gently. "Go ahead. We need to know. Leo needs to know."

"Okay."

\-----------------

CJ closed the suitcase with a thump. Suit, shoes, hose, blouse, all in black. It had taken her a while to find the severe black suit; she hadn't worn black for so long. It looked bad on her on television. She wondered if she should bring a hat. She had one, bought for her grandfather's funeral. She smiled sadly.

Toby had gone with her to the funeral. He had made fun of that hat all the way to the church. All through the Mass, he had glanced at her and she had tried hard not to laugh, hearing the comments about the hat echoing through her head.

She tiptoed and pulled down the hatbox and took out the hat. Putting it on her head, she looked into the mirror. He was right, it did look silly on her. Especially combined with a sleeveless undershirt and boxers, her normal nightwear. God, how Toby would laugh to see her like this.

Or would he? She took off the hat and placed it carefully in the box. Toby's eyes were as eloquent as his writing, and his eyes said things that she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.

His eyes told her that she was beautiful. His eyes told her that he was proud of her, no matter what his voice said. His eyes told her he loved her.

CJ's eyes filled with tears. She knew he cared about her, that he loved her as a friend. But did his eyes say more than his words did? Did he love her?

They had been friends for a long, long time. She was the one who could make him laugh when he was wallowing in a deep funk. She was the one who could engage him in an argument to get him thinking instead of brooding.

If he did love her, why did he not tell her? Was he afraid she'd turn away? She wouldn't have turned away.

She paused, knowing it was true. She threw herself on the bed, in tears. God, she did love him. It had snuck up on her so silently that she hadn't noticed. It wasn't the grand passion she had thought love would be. It was simply a sense of rightness, of security. And now it was gone. He was gone.

"Why didn't you tell me, Toby?" she murmured. "I would have been there for you."  


\----------------

"Fucking son of a whore." The words out of Margaret's mouth startled both Josh and Donna.

"Who?" Donna asked, rushing to her side.

"Look." Margaret pointed to the screen. Toby's files were there, neat and organised.

"Hoynes?" Josh looked blankly at the screen. "What the hell does Hoynes have to do with this?" He pushed Margaret out of the way and read rapidly.

"Josh?" Donna ventured as Josh leaned back. She had not seen such a look on his face since Rosslyn.

"Fuck," Josh said finally, putting his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands.

"What?"

"Ladies, we are looking at what might be the biggest scandal in American political history," Josh said tiredly. "John Hoynes is running for the Democratic nomination."

Margaret looked at Donna. Donna looked at Margaret, then at Josh.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said carefully.

"Hoynes doesn't have a prayer against Bartlet. So he has to make sure that Bartlet doesn't run," Josh replied. "He can't hit the President directly."

"Josh, I'm still not following."

"Toby talked to Hoynes week before last, about the oil slapdown." Josh said flatly. "That's when he started digging. He worked out that Hoynes is running. And that means Hoynes thinks Bartlet won't."

"Well, the President hasn't said anything about re-election," Donna pointed out practically. "Maybe it's a just in case thing."

"Friday, Toby is in with the President for a long time. Security at airports is pushed up and the President's security detail is heightened," Josh continued. "Toby must have found something out about Hoynes, something that isn't here. He told the President and four days later, Toby's dead." Josh shot to his feet and started out the door.

"Where are you going?" Donna cried out.

"To see Leo," Josh shouted back. Donna took off after him.

"No, Josh," she yelled at him. "You can't go off like this."

"Just watch me." Josh was at his desk, punching in numbers. Donna put her hand down on the hang up button and faced him.

"Josh, before you accuse the Vice President of the United States of murder, you better be damned sure of your facts."

"Donna..."

"No, I mean it. Toby killed himself and you can't face that. So you're looking for some other reason. Don't let your need to find another explanation blind you to reality."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Donnatella Moss," Josh said sarcastically. "I need to talk to Leo."

"Yes, you do." Donna removed her hand. "But not to accuse anyone of anything. Call him and Sam. You can discuss this together and you'll see how incredibly stupid your scenario is."

\---------------

Leo listened to Josh rant with as impassive a face as he could manage. It was nonsense, of course. Now would be the perfect opportunity to tell Sam and Josh what the President told Toby.

No. Neither he nor the President could deal with that conversation right now. And Babish had warned them to keep tight with that for the moment. The timing was incredibly bad right now.

"Josh, that's ridiculous," Sam said quietly. "I know it's hard to accept, but I think Toby really did commit suicide."

"So do I," Leo said, equally quietly. "Josh, I've been there, with the booze and the pills..."

"It wasn't that." Margaret spoke up. Leo looked at her as if he had forgotten she was in the room. "I didn't see any signs of that. None."

"How would you know what to look for?" Leo snapped at her. She didn't flinch.

"I watched you go through it," she said quietly. "Toby drank too much sometimes, but he was never an alcoholic. He didn't need to drink. He didn't pop pills to calm down, either. I may not be an expert, but I know the signs, Leo."

Leo nodded tiredly. Margaret was right; she did know the signs. But she didn't know Toby all that well.

"I think he may have been in pain," Sam said, after a moment or two. "You know how Toby is... was. He'd never say anything about it. He may have been sick and we didn't know about it."

"The autopsy would have shown that, Sam," Josh objected. I still think there was some kind of conspiracy involved."

"So what are these?" Sam pulled the pill case out of his pocket. "I found these in his desk."

Leo and Josh looked at them, but none of them knew what they were.

"Margaret, take these and find out what they are," Leo ordered, handing her the case.

"You mean I should just go to a pharmacist and ask?" Margaret asked blankly.

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay." She nodded briskly. "Anything else?"

"Is everything set for tomorrow?"

"Yes. The flight leaves at eleven twenty for JFK. We'll be picked up there to go to the funeral."   



	6. Endings 6

Thursday...

CJ remembered very little of the funeral. What was supposed to be a private affair turned into a three ring circus. Hundreds of people were there, far more than the small synagogue could hold. The press, naturally, had found the location, and showed up as well, swelling the numbers to immense proportions. The New York City Police had to send out crowd control squads and the confusion was terrible.

Somehow, the security people managed to keep the service fairly private and the rabbi locked the doors as soon as the small space was full. The Secret Service agents were a big help with that.

CJ stared at the closed coffin, tears in her eyes. She wore the hat, despite the misgivings as to its appropriateness. She hoped that Toby, wherever he was, would laugh.

She watched as Andrea joined Toby's mother, sisters, brother and father in the front seats. Funny, she always thought that Andrea and his family did not get along. Yet, they seemed to welcome her warmly.

\---------------  


Leo felt uncomfortable with the service. He had never been to a Jewish burial before and he wasn't sure what to do or not to do. He glanced at the President and the First Lady. They seemed to be perfectly at home here. Zoey and Charlie looked less comfortable, but were paying attention to the service.

It startled him when Ginger, of all people, rose to say a few words. She spoke briefly, but eloquently to the crowd; Sam's words, Leo realised. Sam had written this, but passed off the task to Ginger.

As she spoke, Leo looked at her with new appreciation. She spoke well, without faltering. She did not cry, although sadness and grief shone through.

His eyes narrowed. Ginger had been a pillar of strength through this. She had helped Andrea with the arrangements, coordinated with the family and even helped people to their seats. She had not, Leo realised, been shocked.

Everyone else had been shocked, but not Ginger. And, he recalled, not Andrea. He looked from one woman to the other, then to the grieving family. They, too, lacked the utter confusion and shock that the senior staff had displayed. They were grief stricken, but they did not seem to be utterly surprised.

Toby's secrets. What the hell was John talking about? What did he know? And what did they know that made this a tragic, but not entirely unexpected event? It was all very puzzling.

\------------------

After the service, the police and Secret Service cleared the gravesite for the mourners, letting only the family and the President and his staff inside the security cordon.

CJ tried to stifle her tears, watching Toby's coffin being lowered into the grave. She felt an arm go around her; it was Andrea, giving her the support she needed. She slipped her arm around Andrea. They had been good friends, once. As she did so, she realised that Ginger had her arm around Andrea on the other side and Mrs. Ziegler was beside Ginger.

The four women stayed together as the burial was completed. CJ closed her eyes and prayed as she heard the dreadful sound of earth being dropped on the coffin. When she opened them again, the people were drifting away. It was over.

She looked at the women beside her. Andrea was pale and her cheeks were wet with tears, but she was composed. CJ let go as Andrea approached the grave and took a small stone out of her pocket. She placed it on the new, hastily carved gravestone and kissed her fingers, touching the letters gently.

"Shalom," she said softly. Peace.

\-------------------

Ginger helped Toby's mother to the waiting car, but CJ stayed where she was. Andrea stayed as well.

"CJ. It's time to go," Andrea said gently, after a long moment.

"How can you be so calm, Andy?" CJ whispered fiercely. "You loved him once."

"I love him now," Andrea replied softly. "Come, CJ. We can't stay here much longer or the press will be asking questions you don't want to answer."

CJ allowed Andrea to lead her away her car, rather than to one of the limos. She felt horrible for leaning so much on Andy. Andy had her own grief to deal with, but it seemed like she had no one else to lean on.

"It's okay, CJ," Andrea told her as they got into the car. "You can cry if you need to."

With that gentle permission, CJ burst into tears. She thought she had already cried all the tears, but there seemed to be an inexhaustable supply.

"I loved him," she said quietly, as soon as she was able to speak. "I realised that last night."

"He loved you, too," Andrea replied, smoothing CJ's hair off her face.

"He said he did." CJ nodded. "In his letter. He said he loved me like a friend. He didn't say why he did this. He just said he was tired."

Andrea went still. CJ didn't know. Toby hadn't told her. No, of course he wouldn't say anything. He treasured CJ's friendship. He had allowed Ginger enough hints for her to figure it out, but not CJ. She bit her lip, wondering if she dared say anything.

"He loved you, too," she repeated softly, urgently.

"Yes, I know. I was his friend."

"You were more than a friend," Andrea blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand. She hadn't meant to say that. The flash of utter devastation on CJ's face tore at her. "God, CJ. I'm sorry. I never meant for you to know that. To know how he felt about you."

"He told you he loved me?" CJ asked, in a very strange voice. Andrea knew she could not go back now.

"In his letter to me." Andrea nodded. "He told me that he was falling in love with you. I wasn't going to tell you that. I didn't want to add to your pain."

"Did he tell you why?" CJ asked fiercely. "Did he say why he did this?"

"No." Andrea shook her head. "He didn't have to."

"But you know."

"Yes."

"Why?" The anguish in the question was unbearable.

Andrea told her. CJ listened in growing disbelief, tears falling down her cheeks again. These tears were not the storm of before; they were tears of sorrow.

"May I tell the others? Leo and Sam and Josh?" CJ asked quietly. "I think they need to know."

"Leo already knows." Andrea looked puzzled.

"No, he doesn't. I'm sure he doesn't."

"He must know." Andrea spread her hands helplessly. CJ shook her head and they both fell silent.

"Andy... Is this why you left him?"

"I couldn't cope with it anymore," Andrea admitted. "I just couldn't deal with it. I tried. I really did try, CJ."

"I know."

\----------------------

All of the White House people stood around the Ziegler family home afterwards in a clump. Donna made the rounds of sympathy, looking back at Josh as if to ask if she was doing it right, but Josh was in his own little world.

"Guys?" CJ approached them, her eyes red and swollen. "Could you come with me for a minute? I think Andrea wants to talk to you."

Andrea was standing in one of the upstairs rooms, her arms wrapped around herself. She turned as the group came towards her.

"Leo, the President needs to hear this, too," Andrea said, her voice brittle and cold. Leo glanced at CJ, who nodded, and left.

"Andy, I am so sorry..." Sam began, but Andrea brushed him off.

"This is where Toby and I used to stay when visiting," she said, distantly. "If you look by that lamp, you'll see the dent in the wall from when Toby threw his shoe at his sister."

Josh and Donna exchanged glances. Andrea had been composed through all of this. Now it seemed she was starting to fall apart.

Leo returned with the President and the First Lady a few minutes later. The room was hot and stuffy, crowded with far too many people. Leo and Margaret, Josh and Donna, the President and his wife, Ginger and Bonnie, Sam and CJ all faced Andrea, who sat down on the bed, with a sigh. She looked at each face individually, then looked away.

"I once promised Toby I'd never tell anyone about this," she began softly. "I never wanted to break that promise. But he can't exactly yell at me now, can he?"

"Andrea..." The President tried to step forward. She looked at him steadily.

"You all want to know why Toby did this. You need to know."

"Yes." Leo nodded once.

"Depression," Andrea said bluntly, looking at the floor.

"Depression?" Josh wrinkled his brow. "That's it?"

"Toby suffered from unipolar depression," Andrea said slowly. "Not situational depression, but a rapid cycle affective disorder."

"What was he taking for it? MAO inhibitors?" Abbey asked.

"No. Zoloft for the depression. Diazapam and Mogadon to calm down. Clonazapam to sleep. That's why I wanted to know what drugs were in his system. He must have gone off the anti- depressants."

"Andrea..." Abbey hesitated. "Are they sure? I mean, most depressives don't have the energy..."

"Toby's depressions were usually agitated depressions. Rather than sleeping for days on end, he wouldn't be able to stop," Andrea explained. "He could work through mild episodes, as long as he didn't get frustrated. If you could get him to think, and engage his interest, he could cope with it. And as long as he took the Zoloft, the episodes were very mild. They worked well for him."

"Is that what these are?" Margaret asked, taking the pill case from her pocket. Andrea took it and shook the pills into her hand.

"Yes." Andrea put them back into the case.

"So if he was fine with the medication, why did he...?" Sam asked.

"The meds can only do so much. He was tired of fighting it." She shrugged. "Without the meds, he... stopped."

"He was suicidal?"

"Most of the time. Toby tried to kill himself four times in the course of our marriage," Andrea admitted sadly. "And twice since then. Toby would not be able to sleep and not be able to turn off the dark thoughts. Alcohol sometimes brought some relief, but it stops the Zoloft from working while there's alcohol in his system."

"He concealed a medical condition." Bartlet's voice went hard.

"No, he didn't." Andrea nailed Leo with a steely glare. "You knew. He told you."

"No, he did not."

"When you hired him, he filled out the proper forms," Andrea returned evenly. "He always admitted to it on paper. He didn't talk about it because he didn't want to admit openly to a mental illness. That stigma is still pretty damn strong. But he did put it on the form."

"I... never read it," Leo said slowly. "I had him fill out the forms and file them. I never even looked at them."

"Apparently, neither did anyone else," Andrea replied, rising. "Now that you know, you can stop wallowing in guilt about it. There was nothing anyone said or did to cause this. He had an illness. It eventually killed him. That's all there is to it."   



	7. Endings 7

"How dare he, Abbey?" Bartlet kept his voice low so the limo driver and the Secret Service agent couldn't hear him.

"Jed..."

"How dare he stand there in the Oval Office and preach at me for not disclosing my illness when he had something far more serious that what I have."

"Maybe that was projection." Abbey looked out the window, so she didn't have to look at her husband's face.

"Tell me about it, Abbey. Tell me about this illness."

"I'm not a psychiatrist, Jed," she said softly. "I don't know all that much about that form of depression."

"Tell me."

"It's a brain chemical imbalance," Abbey said slowly, trying to recall what she did know. "It's an affective disorder that causes severe mood swings. The onset and the episodes can be triggered by outside events, but the underlying cause is an underproduction of serotonin and other chemicals in the brain. Unipolar depression acts like manic depression, but without the highs. Zoloft keeps the serotonin in the brain long enough to do its work in modulating mood swings. One of its side effects is insomnia and restlessness. That's why its usually taken in combination with diazepam and clonazepam."

"And what does Mogadon do?"

"It keeps the mood swing from flipping over into rage," Abbey said quietly. "Brain chemicals are tricky, Jed. These drugs are effective, but it's still a hit or miss proposition."

Bartlett fell silent for a moment and Abbey looked at him anxiously. She was about to say something when he spoke again.

"What is an agitated depression?"

"I'm not sure," Abbey admitted. "I think its a state where the depression has taken hold, but instead of collapsing into near catatonia, the person gets restless."

"How does it affect cognitive function?"

"Intellect isn't impaired, so far as I know," Abbey said carefully. "However, it has an enormous effect on the emotions and reactions."

"So for the last three years, I've had a Communications Director who was suffering from a mental illness." Bartlet's voice was silky smooth with rage.

"Serving a president with a degenerative neurological disorder," Abbey agreed. "What's your point?"

"My point is, he should have told me."

"Like you told him about yours?" Abbey said coldly.

"Don't try that with me, Abigail. You and I agreed not to discuss the MS with anyone."

"So it's okay for you, but not okay for someone else?"

"Dammit, Abbey, this could not have happened at a worse time. Last Friday night, Toby was in my office yelling at me for lying to the American public. Now, he's dead and I find out that he lied to me."

"You didn't cause this, Jed."

"Like hell I didn't."

\--------------------

Sam dithered for a moment or two by the doorway. After Andrea's statement, they had all gone. The President and the Frist Lady had leave. CJ had gone to talk to Toby's family, Josh and Donna to get something to eat and Margaret and Leo to make sure the arrangements were set for the trip back. He was left without anything in particular to do.

Through the open doorway, he saw Andrea half lying on the bed, her arms wrapped around a pillow, crying bitterly. He approached carefully.

"I'm sorry, Toby. I had to tell them. I'm sorry. I broke my promise and I'm sorry," she murmured, over and over. Sam reached out a gentle hand and touched her hair, smoothing it off her face.

"Sam." Andrea tried to sit up, but Sam smiled at her and shook his head.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked.

"No." Andrea's voice was muffled by the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Andrea."

"For what? It isn't your fault he had this illness."

"May I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"When was he diagnosed?"

"About seven, I think." Andrea sat up and this time Sam helped her.

"Seven?"

"There wasn't anything they could do then. Lithium wasn't even available then. Not that Lithium worked for him anyway."

"If he had this illness since he was seven..."

"He was born with it, Sam. They only diagnosed it at seven," Andrea corrected swiftly.

"There were no treatments?"

"No. He just learned to cope with it on his own."

"But he finished school. He even went to law school." Sam sounded puzzled.

"Toby wasn't stupid, Sam. He really was a brilliant man," Andrea pointed out. "I learned early on that if you got him intellectually excited about something, it helped chase away the depressions. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it was something he could concentrate on rather than his own demons. I remember one time..."

"Yes?"

"I remember once when he was going through a really bad patch, he read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. No matter how many sleeping pills he took, or how much exercise he did, or how many relaxation exercises he did, he couldn't sleep until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. So he read. I think that's one of the ways he learned to cope with it."

"So that's how he knew everything." Sam gave a half smile.

"Yeah." Andrea nodded. "It used to drive me crazy sometimes."

"Me, too." Sam sighed. "He'd come up with some obscure fact and I'd stand there feeling inadequate. Did you ever feel that way?"

"Yeah." Andrea looked away. "I couldn't do anything about his mood swings. I felt helpless."

"That must have been difficult for you."

"It was. I used to have this image of a sampler in my head..."

"A sampler?"

"One of those embroidered things with sayings on them," Andrea explained. "Mine said 'he's not doing this to piss me off'. It was a great comfort to me to know he wasn't deliberately setting out to hurt me."

"Weird." Sam shook his head. "I think I had one of those, too. Whenever he did something that annoyed me, I would think to myself 'it's nothing personal', that he was doing this because of the job and not because he was trying to shoot me down in flames."

"Did it work?"

"Sometimes."

"Toby liked you, you know," Andrea said softly.

"Really?" Sam blinked. He was never entirely sure on that point.

"Really." She smiled a little. "I know. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Toby felt about anything." She went pensive again and Sam looked at her with concern.

"What?"

"Things were going so well for him," she said softly. "He was doing what he always wanted to do, with people he liked and respected. He had medications that worked. He was happy. I guess I started to hope that it would be enough."

\------------------

The flight back was very quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts, feelings and memories. Andrea asked to fly back with them, much to the surprise of everyone but CJ.

"Had enough?" CJ said sympathetically. She knew Toby's family; they were wonderful people, but a bit much to take in large doses.

"Yeah." Andy nodded. "When the extended family starts to show up, it's time to go. After all, I'm an outsider. I'm not Jewish, I didn't give him any kids, and I left him. His parents and sibs understood, but the rest of the clan don't know what to make of me."

"Andy... I need to talk to you about the press," CJ said carefully. "The speculation has been..."

"Intense." Andy finished. "I've read every word of it, CJ. I know what they've been saying."

"I want to leak it. About his illness," CJ said bluntly. Andy bit her lip and looked away.

"Andy, they're talking corruption. They're talking about some deep dark secret he had. They're saying a whole lot of horrible things about why he did this. I want to tell the truth."

"No."

"Andy..."

"No, CJ. I promised." Andrea looked her in the eye and CJ flinched at the pain she saw.

"Someone will find the truth, Andy," CJ said gently. "Illness is nothing to be ashamed of."

"He was ashamed of it." Andrea's voice went low, fierce. "It destroyed our marriage. It stopped him from telling you how he felt. It got him fired from a hundred jobs. It took so much away from him. No."

"I don't understand," CJ replied, with a frown. "Andy, people will understand."

"They'll use terms like how brave he was to fight this illness. The press will leap on it and go on and on about his heroic struggle. They'll talk about how this illness spurred him on to achieve great things, which is unmitigated bullshit," Andrea hissed. "He had no choice, CJ. He had to deal with it. And he didn't succeed, did he, CJ?"

"No," CJ said softly, feeling tears prickle in the back of her eyes.

"No."

\------------------

The pen was in danger of being driven through the table. President Bartlet tapped it over and over, with increasing violence. Abbey bit her lip. It was Jed's turn for anger and she didn't think that his anger was any less intense than hers had been.

"Don't even say it, Abigail," he said to her, after the third of fourth time she opened her mouth to say something. "Don't give me that look."

"Which one?" Abbey shot back. "The one that says I care that you're upset? Or the one that says get your head out of your ass?"

"When I first found out about the MS, I was angry. I was upset and angry," Jed said slowly, fury in his voice. "But I took comfort that it isn't fatal, Abbey. You told me that. Four specialists told me that. It won't harm anyone to keep it to myself. You told me that. Leo later told me that. I told myself that. But it was fatal. It was fatal to someone who gave me three years of his life. Three years of a talent so profound it made me weep at times. Don't even try to tell me that I am not responsible for this."

"You aren't," Abbey said flatly. "Whatever Catholic guilt you feel and whatever hair shirt you feel you have to wear, you did not put the gun in his hand."

"I pulled the trigger."

"No. No, Jed, you did not."

"How could he do this to me?" Jed suddenly shouted, the pen snapping with the pressure of being driven into the table. Ink spattered, and Abbey stared at the pooling ink, as if it were blood. "How could he let his illness take control of his life? How could he fall so far into despair? Will that be me?"

Abbey blinked back tears. God, he wasn't angry. He was afraid. She wanted so much to wrap her arms around him and hold him safe. She knew he had to fight this demon on his own; no one was going to banish this fear.

\----------------

Leo had his eyes closed, his body relaxed, but his mind was racing. That was what John was talking about. John had seen the personnel records. He had known that Toby had this illness.

Was that why he challenged Toby to look? Why had John felt Toby had to know? Did John know that knowing about Jed's MS would be what tipped him over the edge? Or did he think that Toby would somehow be more sympathetic to Jed and his struggles?

Leo gave a half smile. Toby hadn't exactly been sympathetic. He had raked both he and Jed over the coals about it. And he had been right; they had betrayed the public. Unwittingly so, but they had. It was Toby's passionate defense of honesty and integrity that had driven them to go see Babish, to see how this situation could be rectified.

Why had John precipitated this? Was he playing some kind of Machiavellian game, one that would rob the Bartlet administration of one of its best strategists?

Leo thought back to what Jed had said about John's reaction to the news. John had agreed to keep his mouth shut. Leo had thought that John kept quiet willingly, but now he wasn't so sure. There was that odd look of - relief? - when Leo told him he knew.

He had to talk to John when he got back. He had to know which way John had meant this revelation to play out. Had he done so out of malice, knowing how it would affect Toby, or had he done so out of desperation, knowing that Toby would set them on the straight and narrow?   



	8. Endings 8

Sam looked at the legal pad on his knee. They needed a statement about Toby's death. The silence from the White House was going on too long. They had to respond to the speculations and they had to do it soon. The press had been fairly respectful, but now that the funeral was over, the vultures would descend, wanting to know the details. The spectre of juicy scandal was looming over them.

He scribbled idly on the page, hoping for inspiration. This was the sort of thing Toby himself could do with one eye shut. He could say nothing of substance so beautifully that the reader was fooled into thinking that their question had been answered.

He could not write that Toby had killed himself because had been suffering from a mental illness. Andrea was right about that one; there was still an enormous stigma to that. But if he couldn't tell the truth, what could he say?

He wrote for a moment or two, without really knowing where he was going with it. After a paragraph or two, the words came faster and his pen flew across the page. It was as if Toby's spirit or something had entered into his pen, as if Toby's favoured way of writing had somehow evoked Toby's talent.

He wrote on and on, heedless of the odd looks he was starting to get from Margaret. This was going to need heavy editing, but it was a start.

\-----------------

Josh was sitting with his head in his hands, still reeling from shock. Donna sat beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Josh felt stupid. He had been so busy trying to find a reason for Toby's death so he wouldn't have to think about suicide. If Toby had taken his own life, it was only a matter of time before he thought seriously about that way out himself.

He never told Donna about how often he thought about that. The fear and confusion had abated a great deal since Christmas, but it still woke him up at night, bathed in sweat and trembling.

Toby was a fixture in his life and his death had taken away one of the foundations of his healing. If Toby, of all people, could do the unthinkable, it wasn't so unthinkable, was it?

He had always seen Toby as unshakable, someone who could walk unscathed through the political minefields they both played in. Knowing that Toby expected him to pick up and move on, as Toby had always done in his long and not always successful career, helped him do so. The shooting was the first time Josh had not been in control of his own destiny and it scared him. Watching Toby, who had lived through failure and pain, helped him believe that survival and, eventually, success, was not only possible, but inevitable.

And there was another feeling that was starting to surface. His friend - a rather prickly and sometimes unlikable friend - was dead.

Josh cried out softly. Toby was dead. For the first time in this awful, nightmarish week, it hit him. Toby was dead.

He felt Donna's arms around him, her ready tears falling in time with his, as he cried for his friend.

\-----------------

Andrea looked over at CJ, who was trying to read. She hadn't turned a page in nearly ten minutes, so she wasn't actually reading. She ached for CJ. She knew, long before the letter, probably long before Toby did, that he loved her. She was pretty sure that CJ felt the same way.

Toby had been far too wary to bring up the topic with her, but she knew. She had hoped and prayed for the day when Toby would shuffle his feet, look everywhere but at her, and admit that he was sort of, maybe, perhaps, kind of seeing CJ. She couldn't quite let go of Toby until she knew that he was all right.

God, she hadn't even dated anyone until he was firmly and safely ensconced in the position of Communications Director. She couldn't. She couldn't give her heart to anyone else until she could rest easily about the man she loved.

She had hoped that with the medication and with the knowledge that he was valued and successful, that he would try to rebuild his life, a life with someone like CJ at his side. She wasn't jealous of CJ; she had had her good times with Toby, along with the bad. She had too many memories of heartache to go back to him. She had too many good memories not to wish the very best for him.

She had kept his secret for so long. She almost resented having to reveal it; that part of him, that trust he had given her, was hers. It belonged to her, not to them. Good or ill, that part of him was hers and she was damned if she'd let the ignorant, uncaring, gossiping, scandal seeking press have that part of him, too. Let them wonder. They had no right to dishonour his memory by experts making reports about what he could have and should have done. They didn't know. They didn't live with it, day in and day out.

Let them wonder. The people he cared about knew he was a good man. That was enough. The rest of the world could go to hell in a handcart.

\------------------

"I have to tell them," Bartlet said, as soon as Leo shut the door behind him. Leo masked his surprise. Jed had been resisting telling anyone else about the MS, despite Babish's insistence that he had to.

"When?"

"As soon as possible," Bartlet replied, raking his hand through his hair. "I can't let this situation go on."

"Why?" Leo asked quietly.

"For the sake of the people out there wandering around in a daze because they didn't know," Bartlet replied. "I won't let the MS destroy anyone else."

"Jed..." Leo reached out a hand. Bartlet gave a half smile. Leo never called him Jed anymore; he had to be pretty shaken to drop the protocol he had insisted on for the last three years.

"Leo, what we said last Friday triggered this whole tragedy," Bartlet said quietly, holding up a hand to forestall Leo's automatic protest. "Toby got this dropped on him like a ton of bricks. And he was right in every damn thing he said. We - I - betrayed the American people. I betrayed those good people out there. I need to make it right. I need to tell them."

"Are you sure that now is a good time?"

"No. I'm not sure there is a good time." Bartlet sighed.

"You sure you're not acting out of guilt?"

"Abbey thinks this is part of my hair shirt wearing Catholic guilt."

"Is it?"

"And the truth shall set you free, Leo," Bartlet quoted. "The truth is the only way to go. I am the way and the Truth. Is it guilt that urges me to follow the lessons of the faith that is the very essence of my life?"

"Are you prepared for the results?"

"Impeachment, hearings, relentless pressure from the press and accusations of treason?"

"Giving the men and women out there another burden to bear," Leo countered. "They are pretty fragile right now."

"I know."

"You feel responsible for Toby's death, don't you?"

"Don't you?"

"You want them to accuse you," Leo said sharply. "You want absolution and you can't have that until someone accuses you. You want to confess and be forgiven."

"No."

"If you want to confess, go to a priest," Leo continued relentlessly. "I won't let you do that to my people."

"Your people? Those people out there serve at the pleasure of the President. Last time I checked, you weren't the President of the United States."

"I brought them in. I got Josh. He brought Sam. I got Toby - against your objections I might add - and he brought CJ. Those are my people, Jed. And I won't let you do this to them to assuage your guilt."

"And I won't let you handle them this way," Bartlet shot back. "How long will it take Josh to find what Toby found? And come to us and ask? Will you decide we have to tell him at the last minute, with our backs to the wall, like we did with Toby? No, Leo. No more lies."

"Nobody lied."

"How often have I used that excuse? Nobody lied. No, nobody did. And nobody told the truth, either. We tell them, Leo. When we get back to Washington, we do it. We tell them and we make sure that they can talk to each other about it."

"Will that make a difference?"

"When I found out, all those years ago, I would not have made it without Abbey to talk to," Bartlet said, after a long moment. "You talked to me, Leo. You talked to Abbey and to Fitz. Who did Toby have to talk to?"   



	9. Endings 9

Friday...

Carol looked sympathetically at CJ as she handed her the morning messages. There were more than usual, considering the half day yesterday and Carol wished she could make them disappear. CJ looked as if she hadn't slept a wink. Then again, all the staff looked bad, ever since Wednesday.

"Thanks, Carol." CJ gave a brief smile as she took the cup of coffee from her.

"Danny wants to talk to you for a minute," Carol said slowly.

"No. No, I can't deal with Danny right now." CJ groaned.

"I think you should," Danny said, from behind Carol. CJ blew out a breath.

"Okay. Two minutes, Danny. Then I'm throwing you out."

"Okay." Danny slipped past Carol and shut the door. "Call on me first this morning, okay?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm not going to ask any questions about Toby," Danny said gently. "Katie and Steve both have something that you don't want to answer."

"What?"

"Did you know Toby tried before?" Danny asked quietly. CJ paused for a long moment.

"Yes, I did," she said truthfully.

"So does Katie. She has a question about a 911 call in New York in '91."

"And Steve?"

"He has a question about a three week stay in hospital without any apparent reason for it in '94."

"Oh."

"I'm not going to ask, CJ," Danny told her.

"Why not?"

"Not my story," Danny shrugged. "I was going to ask about Mexico and why we're handing out money to them. And about the Haitian election."

"I'm prepared for them." CJ nodded.

"I'm sorry, CJ. I know you cared about him," Danny offered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I did." CJ tried to control the catch in her voice.

"Look. You've got a briefing. I'll catch you later."

"Okay. And, Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

\-----------------

Babish took the news without even blinking. He nodded once, slowly and Bartlet wanted to slap him.

"I have to tell the senior staff," Bartlet repeated. "Once I've spoken to them, you can make appointments. Be gentle with them, Oliver. It's not been a good week."

"I can't," Babish said flatly. "I can't treat them with kid gloves. No one else will."

"For God's sake, have some compassion. One of their own just died."

"And you're afraid that if I lean too hard, they'll kill themselves, like Toby did?"

Bartlet felt the breath go out of him. Even in his innermost thoughts, he hesitated to articulate that suspicion.

"I spoke to Toby on Monday night," Babish continued. "He was perfectly coherent and composed. We had quite a productive chat, he and I. He agreed with nearly everything I said and I agreed with him. So when you think I'm being a callous, uncaring son of a bitch, keep in mind that it's exactly the approach the late, lamented Toby Ziegler recommended. He was a smart man. He knew what he was talking about."

"And you're not concerned that the rest of my staff may react the way Toby did?"

"No, because I am a callous, uncaring son of a bitch," Babish retorted mildly. "If you wanted histrionics, you should have hunted up Lionel Tribbey."

"Yeah." Bartlet sighed and slumped.

"Mind you, his death just makes this harder," Babish added. "Not only are you not going to have one of the best political minds in your corner, the opposition is going to assume your revelation was why he did it."

"I know."

"Was it?"

"His ex doesn't think so."

"Do you?"

"Oliver..."

"Do you?" Babish repeated. "If you are asked in front of a grand jury, what will you say?"

"I'll say I don't know," Bartlet replied. "I was stunned by the news. He seemed fine on Tuesday afternoon."

"Was that the last time you saw him?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes."

"What did you talk about?"

"We discussed the progress of a speech I was supposed to give in Chicago to the steelworkers yesterday."

"Did you discuss anything about your illness?"

"No."

"Did you discuss anything personal?"

"No." Bartlett shook his head, then paused. "Yes. He made a comment about how the Yankees had beat the pants off the Orioles on Sunday. He seemed pleased by that."

"You're overanswering again."

\--------------------

CJ ushered Andy into her office and closed the door. For the first time in all the years CJ had known her, Andy looked her age and more. CJ had always envied Andy her ability to look mid- thirty-ish no matter how tired she was. CJ knew she looked anywhere between twenty and fifty, depending on the day.

"I'm sorry to have called you here, but I need some information," CJ said, motioning Congresswoman Wyatt to a seat.

"I assume you're referring to Toby." Andy tried to smile. "I've had some questions already."

"New York in '91?" CJ said simply. Andy looked away.

"Attempt number three," Andy replied. "He had a knife. When I tried to take it away from him, I got slashed a little. He called an ambulance."

"Were you badly hurt?"

"I've had more serious paper cuts. Toby, on the other hand, was bleeding pretty badly."

"Did they try to keep him there at the hospital?"

"No. Toby lied and said the knife slipped and we both tried to grab for it. The doctors didn't believe it, but the staff psychiatrist agreed that he was capable of making decisions and let us go home."

"A hospital stay in '94?"

"That was the adventure of the search for anti-depressive medication." Andy shook her head. "For some weird reason, he was given phenobarbital."

"For depression?"

"It's for epilepsy. They assumed his explosions of temper were a form of grand-mal seizures, despite the diagnosis of the unipolar depression," Andy explained.

"That's... peculiar."

"Yeah, well, the whole mental health industry is peculiar," Andy said, with a twist of her mouth.

"What happened?"

"They gave him convulsions," Andy shrugged. "The convulsions were so bad he would black out. It seems Toby was allergic to phenobarb. He was in hospital for three weeks while they tried to find a medication that would work without killing him."

"And he got on the Zoloft." CJ nodded.

"No. The search for an effective treatment went on for several years," Andy corrected. "He went on Zoloft just after he joined the Bartlet campaign. Between the new meds and the distraction of work, I don't think he had a major episode since then. At least not until..."

CJ let the silence grow, then cleared her throat.

"Andy, the press have those two incidents. Not the details, but they know something happened," she said earnestly. "I don't know if I can keep the story from getting out."

"I see." Andy went still. "I don't want it confirmed, CJ. Let them speculate. All the people who he cared about know. nothing else matters."

"It might matter to the President."

"You didn't know about it. Leave it at that."

"You want me to lie?"

"Yes."

\-------------------

"CJ, the President would like to see you," Leo said, as CJ walked Andrea out. "Andrea, if I could have a word with you?"

"Of course," both women said at the same time. CJ went towards the Oval Office, finding Josh and Sam arriving a step or two before her. Andrea followed Leo into his office and, at his invitation, sat down.

"There is something that I think you should know..."

\------------------

"Sam, Josh, CJ, there's something that you must know," President Bartlet said, motioning them to a seat. "This isn't easy for me to say, so I'll just say it. Eight years ago I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis."

\------------------

"The President has Multiple Sclerosis," Leo said bluntly. Andrea did not even blink.

"I know."

\-----------------

"What?" Sam exclaimed as Josh leapt to his feet and CJ's jaw dropped.

"I have relapsing-remitting Multiple Sclerosis. It cause plaque to form on the spine and brain," Bartlet said quietly. "It isn't fatal."

\-----------------

"How?" Leo demanded.

"Toby told me in his letter."

"He told you?"

"Among a great many other things, yes."

\------------------

The questions came fast and furious, all of them talking at once, but the one that came out clearest was from CJ.

"Did Toby know?"

"Yes, he did. Leo and I told him last Friday night."

"Is that why...?"

\-----------------

"Andrea, I have to ask." Leo's face was drawn and old. "Is that why...?"

\------------------

"I don't know," the President replied painfully. "I would give a great deal to know that."

\-------------------

"No, of course not," Andrea replied immediately.

"Are you sure? That meeting didn't trigger some kind of episode?"

"It may have contributed a little bit." Andrea sighed. "No, Leo. He did not go out and kill himself because of that. That's not how his illness went. Yes, it may have been a factor, but I doubt it."

"So why...?"

"He stopped taking his medication. That's the biggest factor. I'm not sure why he stopped. Maybe he just wanted to sleep. One of the side effects of the medication is insomnia. Considering he had already taken the diazepam and a couple of drinks, I think the episode hit before he could fall asleep."

"What would have triggered the episode?"

"It can be anything, Leo. Anything at all. Or nothing in particular," Andrea explained. "Once he went into a rather bad episode when his computer crashed. He told me that this was not about the President and his MS."

"Why didn't you say anything? The President has been castigating himself all week."

"It never occurred to me. I guess I know too much about the illness to even think about it," Andrea said, covering her mouth with her hand. "I wasn't supposed to know about the MS, so I kept my mouth shut."

"Andrea, why did Toby kill himself?" Leo asked harshly.

"He was afraid." Andrea looked down and picked an invisible bit of lint off her skirt. "He was afraid that his illness would come out and he'd become a detriment to the President. He was afraid that he'd go into an episode and do something stupid and cost the President his job. He was tired, Leo. He was so tired of fighting off depression and he was afraid that this time, he wouldn't win." Andrea covered her face with her hands and started to cry. Leo got up and left the room, feeling like he had been torturing her.

Margaret saw him come out and rose, with a box of tissues in her hand. Bless Margaret.   



	10. Endings 10

Somehow, the three senior staff members found themselves congregating in Toby's office. It was time to go home, but they needed to talk.

"Wow." Josh blew out a breath.

"Amen." Sam nodded. He had one of Toby's rubber balls in his hand and he threw it idly at the wall. It bounced back and he had to scramble to catch it. He bounced it a second time.

"I see why Toby used to do this. It's really very soothing," he said, bouncing a third time and, again, scrambling to catch it.

"Except that Toby was about a thousand times better at it," Josh said.

"That's true of on so many levels," Sam replied evenly, although there was something in his voice that made Josh wince.

"I don't know what to feel," CJ said suddenly. "I don't think I have any more emotions left."

"We need to plan," Josh began.

"We need to strategize," CJ added.

"We need Toby." Sam threw the ball with all his strength at the wall and the other two watched it bounce across the room.

"I know." CJ's voice made both men stop and look at her.

"Oh, God, CJ. I didn't know," Sam said softly, getting up and putting his arm around her.

"Know what?" Josh whispered to Sam.

"I don't know how to deal with this, Sam," CJ said, her head bowed. "I really don't. It's like my whole world fell apart. How could he do this to me?"

"You loved him." Josh looked at her in amazement.

"Yeah. I did." CJ nodded. "And he left me. How in hell could he do this to me?"

"He didn't," Josh countered. His voice was very quiet, very unlike his usual tone. "He didn't do anything to anybody but himself. At that moment, there wasn't anyone in his world but himself."

"Josh?" Sam turned to look at Josh. Josh was sitting on the couch, looking at CJ with serious, trouble eyes.

"I've been there, CJ. I've been in that state where there is nothing real outside the pain. It hurts too damn much to even know that there is anything or anyone else outside it," Josh said. "Toby wrote you a letter. He wrote Andrea a letter. He made sure neither you nor Ginger would be the ones to find him. He tried to reach outside as best he could. He didn't do this to hurt you. It happened anyway."

"Josh...?" Sam whispered, pale.

"He didn't do this to frighten me," Josh continued, this time to himself. "That happened, but it wasn't the intent."

"Josh, please tell me that you're not..." Sam couldn't finish the sentence.

"No. I'm not going there." Josh shook his head. "But I have been in that space a couple of time since Rosslyn. And I didn't have some biochemical imbalance urging me on."

Sam got up and paced for a moment, stopping at the diploma on the wall. It was Toby's law school degree, the Latin phrases reassuringly familiar. Magna Cum Laude. With Highest Honours.

"Andy said," he began haltingly, "that working was Toby's way of dealing with his problems. It distracted him. Despite everything, he did this. A law degree, with highest honours. I worked my ass off and I didn't get highest honours."

"Yeah, he was a smart man," CJ snapped. "Your point?"

"We have a lot of work ahead of us," Sam said, in the same tone. "What the President said... We can't let him fight this fight alone. We can do this."

"He lied to us," CJ said flatly.

"That wasn't his intent." Josh looked up.

"We need to make sure that the public knows that," Sam replied. "His intent was to change the country for the better."

"And not let Multiple Sclerosis stop him from doing it," Josh added.

"It's too much," CJ warned.

"Yes."

"It's too big to handle," CJ added. "We can't do this on our own."

"We can do this together," Josh said fervently.

"What if we can't?"

"Then we fail." Josh shrugged. "That doesn't scare me as much as it used to."

"I have a quote for all of you, if you'll forgive the interruption," Leo said, from the doorway. "Toby said to me that it wasn't the fights we lost that bothered him. It was the ones we didn't suit up for. Are we prepared to suit up for this one?"

"No, but we'll do it anyway." Josh nodded. "CJ?"

"I'm going to be directly in the line of fire," she said slowly. "I guess my suit needs to be flame proof."

"Atta girl," Leo encouraged, heartened by the exasperated look she gave him. "Sam?"

"You asked me to take over this office." Sam rose and faced Leo. "I'm willing to try, if you'll give me the chance."

"And if I do, what's the first step?"

"Clear off my desk and find someone else to take it. Any suggestions?"

\-------------------

"Well?" The President looked up at Leo.

"They're in. We have good people here."

"Yes, we do."

"Mind you, we're going to have some rough times," Leo added. "Right now, they're all feeling noble and self sacrificing." Bartlet winced.

"There's been enough sacrifices."

"Yes, there have. Let's not let it go to waste," Leo nodded. "Sam is going to be overwhelmed. Toby trained him well, but he's not the operator Toby was. Josh is pretty shaken by all of this. CJ's angry and scared. All of them are grieving."

"So the entire senior staff is going to fight the biggest fight of their political careers and aren't really in any shape to win."

"Yeah."

"For a President who may be losing his mind as we speak."

"Yeah."

"And we're going to win, aren't we?"

"Yeah. With odds like that, how can we lose?"

\---------------------

Saturday...

"Get out." Ginger glared at Sam.

"Pardon?"

"Get out. You don't belong here." She folded her arms. Sam looked at her in bewilderment. He had just put his briefcase beside Toby's - his - desk and she had immediately stalked in, with fire in her eyes.

"I'm taking over Toby's position."

"Get out of his office."

"Ginger, it isn't his anymore," Sam said gently.

"I don't care. I want you out."

"What the hell? Ginger, you're not being reasonable..."

"Look behind you, Sam. What do you see on that wall?"

"Toby's diplomas."

"Right. This office has his diplomas on the wall. This office has his effects in his desk. This office has his name on the doorplate. I think all the evidence points to this being his office, not yours. So get out."

"Um, Ginger... You don't have any right to tell me that."

"So fire me. I'm out of a job anyway."

"No. No, you need to stay here. I mean, you're job is safe." Sam stuttered, unable to stand up to the stubborn resistance.

"Get out of this office," Ginger repeated. "It's Saturday. You don't have to be here now."

Sam tried to think of a way out of this situation. He liked Ginger. He wanted to keep her on as assistant to the new deputy. Whoever the new Deputy Director of Communications was going to be, he or she was going to need Ginger to pull everything together. If she felt it was a demotion, he'd take her as his own assistant. He respected her. But he could not let her give him orders, not right at the beginning.

The impasse lasted until CJ came to the door, with her coat still on.

"Sam? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Excuse me. I'll be right back," he told Ginger.

"Sam, leave her alone," CJ said quietly to him.

"CJ, I can't..."

"Leave it until Monday morning." CJ shook her head.

"Look, I love Ginger all to pieces, but I can't let her give me orders."

"You can let her say goodbye," CJ said softly. "She's been so busy helping other people, she hasn't had time to grieve. She gave him three years of her life, Sam. You can give her this."

Sam looked back into the office. Ginger was taking down Toby's diplomas, carefully placing them on the sofa. He could see her shoulders shaking and he knew she was crying.

CJ went past him and into the office. He followed her to the door.

"Ginger, may I help?" CJ asked softly. Ginger didn't answer, but CJ took off her coat and started to sort through the books of the shelf.

Sam watched in wonder as each of the women around the office slowly joined them, packing up the contents of the office. He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling as if he was intruding on a sacred ritual.

\--------------------

"... I decided to keep my illness private. At the time, I felt that, as an American citizen, I had the right to privacy about my personal life. I still believe that. However, in the two and a half years I have been in this office, I realised that I also have an obligation to the American people to do whatever it takes to ensure that they can exercise their right to an informed choice. I have had to balance by firm belief in privacy of the individual with the firm belief that the people need to have as much information as possible, no matter how inconsequential it may be, in order to make intelligent decisions.

"I have fought with myself on this issue for a long time. I do not believe that a chronic condition is any detriment to my ability to serve the American people and I trust in our system of checks and balances to protect the country from chaos should the state of my health ever affect my performance as President.

"However, recent events have altered the way I've been looking at the issue. A valued and competent employee and a dear friend died recently, under circumstances that have been difficult to accept. As his employer, I was angry that there was no warning or indication that there were problems in his life. As his friend, I grieve that I could not reach out a helping hand. I felt betrayed, on a personal and professional level.

"I know now that I cannot let my friends grieve as I have this past week because I am too damned stubborn to let them know that some day, I may need their help.

"And I cannot let my employers, the American people, feel as angry and betrayed as I felt that day. I know now that I have an obligation to disclose my illness. Many of you may feel anger, and betrayal. I understand that, but I do not believe that I was wrong to uphold my right to privacy, nor in my trust in our Constitution to resolve any problems, should that ever become necessary.

"And I do not believe I am wrong to trust in the American people to educate themselves on this issue and to understand my desire to protect my privacy and my family's privacy. I trust the American people to make informed choices. I don't think that trust is misplaced."

"It's a beautiful speech," Sam said, breaking the silence in the Oval Office.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'm not going to write all my speeches from now on." Bartlet shot a look at Sam over his glasses. "But this one had to come from the heart."

"It, uh, could use a little polish, though," Sam added.

"That's why I'm giving it to you," Bartlet replied. "What about the rest of you? Any problems?"

The others shook their heads and they filed out. Leo stayed behind.

"I was up all weekend writing that," Bartlet said quietly, as the room cleared. "It's the kind of thing Toby could have written in half an hour."

"I think he would have seen some merit in it," Leo allowed.

"When you told me that I had to tell Toby, all I could think of was, now it begins." Bartlet said. "I just wish beginnings weren't preceded by endings."

END


End file.
